Wildfire
by fancy claps
Summary: S/A, AU. Life's an uncontrolled fire. A wildfire.
1. One Shit

My eyes blink open, dart around the room. Focusing. White ceiling. Blue walls. Sleepily, I lift my hands to my face. Nostrils flare at the strong scent left on my fingertips. _Sara._ I rub my eyes with my palms before turning my head to the left and lowering my gaze. There she is. My Sara. Okay, no, that's a lie. She's not mine. But I wish.

Oh, I wish.

As Sara continues to sleep, I study her face; careful, patient eyes glide over every dip and curve and angle. She possesses a childlike innocence when in slumber. Adorable? Very. Her lips are slightly parted, and I'm tempted to bend down and take the bottom one between my own. But I don't. I'm enjoying just looking. Admiring. I continue on, moving south, stopping on a long, naked back. Smooth, tan skin. I shift, propping myself up on one elbow. With two fingers, I walk my hand up the glorious expanse of flesh, along the spine, creating goose bumps with each step my fingers take, until two shoulder blades draw up and block my course. I raise my head. Brown meets green. I smile.

"Hey," Sara murmurs.

"Hey," I echo, huskily. "Sleep well?"

"Mmm." Sara buries her face in her pillow.

"Is that a yes?"

Sara rolls over and stretches, not caring that the sheet isn't covering her front. And I can't help but look. Sara's breasts are perfect. Not too big, not too small – slightly bigger than a handful. Round. Soft. _So soft._ Lately, that's all I ever think about: Sara's breasts. At school, when my mind is supposed to be on e.e. cummings or derivatives, I think about touching them, cupping them and feeling the nipples pucker against my palms, or having my mouth on them – teasing, sucking, nipping, biting. Just having these thoughts causes a reaction. I squeeze my thighs together. My fingers curl into my palms, clench into fists.

"Yes."

"Hm?" I reluctantly lift my gaze. Sara's smirking. I've been caught. Not that I was being discreet, or even trying to be. I feel my cheeks warm slightly. "Sorry, what?"

"Yes, I slept well."

"I'm glad," I smile, and push up to lean against the headboard. I nervously pick at the sheet draped across my body. "I, uh," I clear my throat. God, I wish I was more smooth. Especially with her. "I think I like sleep overs. We should do it more often."

"You know I can't."

"Yeah." I force a smile, avert my eyes. "I know."

Sara leans over and presses a soft kiss against my cheek before moving to the edge of the bed and standing. She walks around my bedroom, collecting pieces of clothing scattered about the floor. I stay in bed and watch her dress.

"I'll see you at school?"

I nod. Sara leaves.

I glance at the digital clock; 6:11. School starts at 8:30. I don't have to get up for another hour, but I'm too awake to go back to sleep and too ADD to just lay in bed. I kick the sheet away from my body and scoot off the bed.

Dressed in a faded gray tank top and dinosaur boxer shorts, I pad through a dark, empty house, heading for the kitchen. I flip the light on, and search for food. Which I don't find. My parents don't buy groceries. They give me money for groceries, but I spend it on fun, not food. Sighing, I walk from the kitchen to the living room and plop down on the couch. As I flip through television channels, my mind drifts. I think about last night. Sara's never spent the night. It was nice, having her in my bed, holding her. "I need to stop," I mumble to myself. Paige would slap me for having these thoughts.

Paige. My best friend. She moved here sophomore year. I had lost a lot of friends the year before. I had no one. She was new, didn't know about my past, didn't care. We met at a school assembly. Both of us had snuck out of the gym. Me, because I can't stand school spirit. Paige, because a large crowd gives her a cigarette craving. We spent the whole hour smoking, getting to know each other, and making fun of the cheerleaders and basketball team. We instantly clicked. And we've been close ever since. She's the only person who cares about me. Seriously. My parents? They're not around enough to care.

My dad, Raife Davies, or Danger Davies as he's known to the world, was in an 80s rock band. They recently reunited, made a new record, and are touring across the world. My mom, Christine, doesn't work. To her, spending my dad's money is her job. Oh, and she's having an affair. Every time my dad goes away, she leaves the state, sometimes even the country, with her boy toy. I think they're in Maine, this time. I would feel bad for my dad, if I knew he wasn't doing the same with whoever, whenever, wherever.

Fucked up, right? What's even more fucked up – I'm exactly like them.

--

Senior year. It's supposed to be the best year of my life, right? Well, so far, it's been like any other year. Which means I hate it. I think the only people who enjoy senior year are the ones topping the social ladder. They walk the hallways, with their cocky smirks and judging eyes, acting like they own the school now that they're at the top. I can't stand them. And yet, I used to be one. But that's a story for another time.

Cradling a coffee and my bag, I lock up my car and start to make my way toward the courtyard. Paige is sitting at our usual spot. A table off to the side, shaded by trees. She has earphones in, listening to her iPod, and her cell phone in one hand, fingers quickly moving over the buttons. Texting her boy-of-the-week, most likely.

"Hey, girly," she says when I reach the table, removing her earphones but not looking away from her cell.

I set my bag down and sit, leaning forward to nosily peek at the message. "So, who's the lucky guy this week?"

"Brady. Met him at my mom's church." Message sent, Paige closes her phone and looks up. "After last night's service, in an empty Sunday School room, I gave him head while he had his choir robe still on. Filled me with the Holy Spirit."

I laugh, "You're going to Hell."

"I know," Paige grins wickedly. "But I'll be in good company." She picks up my coffee and takes a sip. "So, your night, how was it? Did she stay over?"

I can't hold back the smile that comes. I nod. "It was amazing."

"God, Ash, I think you're getting too caught up in this, in her. It's not good."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"No, really–"

"I won't be convinced. I saw the smile you just got on your face when I mentioned her. It was disgustingly big. Beaming, even. Lit up your whole damn face."

I roll my eyes and snatch my coffee from her. "I had a good night, that's all."

"You beam like that every time I mention her."

My head falls into my hands. I squeeze my eyes closed and groan. "I like her."

"You more than like her."

"I more than like her," I agree, wishing the statement wasn't true. I tip my head, leaving my chin resting on my palms, and see the 'I told you so' look on my friend's face. She warned me, I should have listened. "I'm stupid."

Paige nods, "A little, yeah."

The bell rings. Paige and I gather our bags. We enter the building together, stop by our lockers, then Paige tells me not to get caught drooling in first period before we part ways.

I shove through clusters of people clogging the halls. Normally, I would be one of the ones lingering in the hallway like I have no where to be when class is just minutes away. I'm not someone who is eager to get to class and get my learn on. But, this term, I'm excited about first period. Literature.

I finally make it there, and that smile Paige was talking about just minutes ago? The beaming one? I think I'm wearing it. Sara's standing outside the classroom holding a basket. My eyes travel down her form. She has on a fitted white button up top tucked into a black skirt that stops inches above her knee. Black heels. Light makeup. Teardrop earrings. Her long, dark hair is pulled back with a few loose snips outlining her face. She's looking much more grown up than this morning, when she was asleep in my bed. "Morning, Mrs. Pierce."

Sara nods, holding her face together. She's so much smoother than I am. "Ashley." She holds up the basket and gives it a little shake. "Pick a number."

"What's this?" I ask as I reach inside the basket.

"I'm putting you in pairs for a project."

"Project on the first day back from winter break? Kinda lame," I tease, removing a piece of paper. I unfold it and read my number; 11.

"I guess that makes me a lame teacher."

My eyes find hers. Brown burns into green. Without looking away, I whisper, "You're anything but lame, Mrs. P."

Sara holds out her hand. I slip the paper into her palm and watch as she scribbles something on the back. She refolds the paper and returns it. I close my hand around it.

"Go have a seat, Ashley."

"Yes, ma'am," I smirk, and move past her, taking a whiff of her perfume with me. Inside the classroom, I quickly scan the tables. To the left, I spot table 11, along with my partner for the project. Spencer Carlin. "Shit."

--


	2. Two Shits

a/n: flashbacks in italics

thank you to everyone who left a comment!

i would really like to hear people's thoughts. i know this is just starting out, but i'm new at this, so i could use some constructive criticism or encouragement to continue. or just tell me what ya think. whatever kind of feedback you want to give, i'll appreciate.

--

_I settle down on the couch, lean my back on the armrest, and draw my legs up, tucking my socked feet between the cushions. The Carlins' cat, Atticus Finch, saunters over, rubbing up against the bottom of the couch. I pat my stomach. Taking my invitation, he hops up and curls into a comfortable position. I run my hands over the cat's soft, fluffy coat._

_Spencer walks in, a cordless phone between her shoulder and ear, and a bowl of popcorn and two diet sodas in her hands. She puts everything on the coffee table. "We will, Mom." She looks over at me, rolling her eyes. I chuckle. Her parents are spending the weekend away at some resort for their anniversary. And Paula, Spencer's mom, has been calling every few hours to check up. Spencer thinks it's annoying. But I think it's what parents – loving, caring parents – should do. I wish for a phone call every time my parents are away. My wishes never come true. "Okay, okay. I love you, too. Bye." Clicking the phone off, Spencer sinks into the couch and turns toward me. "Stealing my cuddle buddy?"_

_I teasingly grin, "Talking to me, or Mr. Finch?"_

_Spencer dips her head slightly, trying to hide the pink in her cheeks. She knows what I'm referring to. Last night, I stayed over, which I've done many times. And like always, I slept with Spencer on her double-sized bed. But unlike the other times, I woke with Spencer's arm draped across my abdomen, head resting on my shoulder, left leg wedged between my legs. It was an intimate position – for friends. However, instead of extracting myself from the sleeping girl, I remained in that position. I didn't want to move. I stilled my body, closed my eyes, and allowed Spencer's warmth to consume me. Her lips were near my neck, almost making contact. I could feel hot breath against my skin. My body tingled. I wished to spend the whole day like that, with Spencer so close, wrapped around my body. But, again, my wishes don't come true. Minutes later, Spencer woke, awkwardly pealed her body from mine, stuttered an apology and fled to the bathroom. Neither of us had brought up the incident until now._

_But my little comment will be the only mention because, instead of responding, Spencer reaches for the popcorn bowl. "Ready for the movie?"_

_My eyes fall to Atticus. I rub his head. "Sure."_

Kill Bill_ starts. Every few minutes my eyes crawl away from the ridiculous action scenes on the screen to sneak a peek at Spencer, who's paying close attention to the movie._

_This morning, during the few minutes that Spencer was cuddled against me, I realized my "little crush" – that I've had for two years now, since seventh grade – isn't so little. It isn't even just a "crush" anymore. It has developed into more. So much more._

_I'm in love with Spencer Carlin. My best friend. My_ straight _best friend. _

--

I feel my stomach knot up. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Chelsea Lewis enter the classroom. She's a sweet girl. Maybe I could get her to trade numbers with me. Wait, no. Sara's note is on the back of mine. "Shit," I curse again, dragging my gaze back to the blonde sitting at table 11. She's looking my way now. Our eyes meet. It's been so long since I've looked into those blue eyes. I clench my jaw, adjust the strap of my bag on my shoulder, and force my legs to move toward her. She's the first one to break away from our little staring game. I drop into the seat next to her, place my bag on the tabletop. She continues to face forward, never turning my way. We don't speak. We just sit quietly, while mild chatter carries on around us.

The final bell rings. Mrs. Pierce steps into the room. "Okay, okay, settle down, guys." She smiles, scanning the students. "I recognize some of you from my English class last semester. Nice to see familiar faces." She walks around her desk and relaxes against it. "For all you newbies, I'm Mrs. Pierce. And this is Literature." She pauses. "I like having my students interact with each other, that's why I've randomly set you up in pairs. The seats you're in are your assigned seats, which means the person you're seated by is your permanent partner for the semester. We'll have several projects throughout the course that..."

Mrs. Pierce continues to address the class, but I stop listening, my mind unable to get passed two words: permanent partner. "Shit." Did I say that out loud?

"Problem Miss Davies?"

Sara answers my thoughts with the question. I notice several heads turned my way. I flick my eyes to the front of the class. Yes, I have a problem. A big one. I cannot be paired with Spencer Carlin for nine fucking weeks! "Uh, no. Sorry." Sara narrows her eyes, trying to read me, but I break our contact. I fold my arms over my chest and sink low in my chair.

"All right, then." Sara moves away from her desk and picks up a stack of papers. "Your first assignment–" She stops when the groans start. "Oh, quiet, it's easy. And fun." She passes out the assignment. "I want you to interview each other. Get to know your partners." Once everyone has an interview sheet, she looks up at the clock. "I'll give you the remainder of class to ask each other questions. We'll do introductions tomorrow."

I stay slouched in my chair, not bothering to retrieve my interview sheet sitting on the table in front of me. Spencer's reading over hers. After a minute or two, she sits back, paper and pen in hand.

"I, uh," she stutters, keeping her eyes on the paper, "I think we can answer most of these questions on our own. I mean, we know each other well enough–"

"You don't know me," I say, interrupting her. She finally tears her gaze away from the paper. Blue, _blue_ eyes fuse with my dark brown. "And I definitely don't know you."

--

Spencer and I end up swapping papers and filling out the answers ourselves, instead of verbally going over them. The rest of class, we ignore each other. I listen to my iPod. She chats with the girl in front of her. When the bell rings, I stay in my seat and watch everyone file out.

Sara rolls her chair back, stands, and goes over to close the door before coming my way. She sits on the side of my table. "What's wrong?"

"I need a different partner."

She sighs and shakes her head. "I can't."

I get up from my chair, press my palms on the tabletop and lean toward her. I smile, scrunch up my nose. My eyes drift to her lips. "_Please?_"

She runs her tongue over her bottom lip and starts to close the gap between us before dropping her head and pushing off the table. "I can't give you another partner, Ashley."

My head falls. I exhale. "Why?"

"It isn't fair to the other students. Like you, I'm sure plenty of them would like different partners. So, if I let you swap, then I would have to let everyone swap."

I cross my arms and roll my eyes. Teachers and their fairness. "I cannot be stuck with Spencer for nine weeks."

"Why? What's wrong with Spencer? She's a sweet girl. Very friendly. Great student. Popular."

I'm not about to stand around and listen to anyone (especially Sara) tell me how great Spencer Carlin is. I yank my bag off the table and mutter, "Forget it." Before I open the door, I shove my hand into my pocket and dig out the piece of paper she gave me before class. "And no, I didn't wear these jeans for you," I hiss, reminding her what she wrote on the back, as I throw the balled up paper at her. After that, I exit the room.

I was excited about my first period for this term. Now? Not so much.

--


	3. Lost Right Arm

wow, so there is some interest in this little guy? awesome. thank you (a buncha bunch) for the comments!

many apologies for that ridiculously super long wait. i took on more classes this february. i'm hoping things'll settle down soon, so i can fit in more writing time. right now, i'm not sure when i can get updates out. won't be a regular scheduled deal, they'll probably just come atcha randomly, here and there. cool? i hope so.

hotcutii3 - yes, sara is married. :)

--

_Sundays. Lazy Sundays._

_When I was younger, Sunday was my least favorite day. My neighborhood friends spent their Sundays in church. And since my family doesn't attend church services, isn't associated with any type of religion, I was stuck in my house with only my dolls and nanny (who barely knew I existed) to keep me company._

_Sundays were boring and lonely._

_Until Spencer._

_Spencer makes Sunday the best day of the week._

_I watch my toes bury in the hot sand. A shadow falls over me. Two wet feet come into view._

"_C'mere."_

_I tilt my head back, look up at the tanned, bikini clad beauty standing over me. My eyes drift down her body before I find her outstretched hand. I don't even ask, I just slip my hand in hers and follow her down the beach. We stop when we hit the tide._

"_Sand castle time." She sits Indian style and begins rummaging through the large beach bag that she brings every Sunday._

_I settle down beside her, and can't hold back the grin when I see the items she is pulling out. "Aren't we a little too old for sand castles and shovels and pails, Spence?"_

"_Oh, we'll never be too old for sand castle building, Ash." Spencer smiles brightly and squints her eyes. And I curse the sun. Curse it for being the reason I can't see her gorgeous blue eyes. "Never."_

_I laugh lightly, and accept the shovel being handed to me. "Okay, if you say so."_

"_I do." Spencer starts packing the pail full of wet sand._

"_Then it must be true, since you never tell a lie."_

"_Like, totally."_

"_Ugh," I use my shovel to flick some sand on her, hitting her leg, "you know I hate those two words used together like that."_

_Spencer giggles, sweeping the sand off of her. "I know, that's why I say it. I love to annoy you." She lowers her head and gives attention to filling the pail. "Your face gets all scrunchy and your nose wrinkles. It's cute."_

_I feel my face warm. But now I'm thankful for the sun because my blush isn't visible through my sun-kissed, pink cheeks. Before I can make any kind of comment, a pail of wet, cold sand is dumped in my lap. "Hey!"_

"_You started it!"_

"_But I... it wasn't... not this much!" I brush off my lap._

"_Well, now you know," Spencer waves her little yellow plastic shovel at me, "not to mess with me."_

"_Oh, puh-leeze!" I laugh. "You're the biggest wimp, Spencer Carlin."_

"_I am not!"_

"_You are. Like, totally," I say jokingly, but can't help cringing as the words pass through my lips._

"_So, I'm not allowed to say 'like, totally,' but you are?"_

"_I can pull it off."_

_Spencer lifts an eyebrow. "I'm not sure that's something to be proud of."_

_I chuckle._

_Spencer sits the pail back down between us. "Okay, I obviously won the sand war, so now that that's over with, can we get serious about this castle? I want to make a big one. With three levels. And a mote," she says excitedly, patting the sand into the bottom of the pail. "Oh, and a drawbridge!"_

_How adorable is she? "Uhh... let's be realistic here, Spence, I doubt we can pull off a drawbridge."_

"_We can, together." Spencer lifts her eyes. I get lost in seas of blue. She grins, knowing the cheesiness that's about to come out of her mouth, "Together, we can pull off anything. Get through anything."_

"_Really?" I stick my shovel into the sand, removing a chunk. "What about world hunger, think we can end that? Together?"_

"_Hm, I think we should start small. For instance, with this sand castle, giving it a drawbridge. Then, we can build up from there. And end world hunger. Together. Someday."_

"_Wow," I draw out, amused at our silliness. "_Someday,_ we're gonna be important."_

"_Like, totally," Spencer grins. And I shake my head and give a slight eye roll at her wording. But as annoying as those two words are – the more Spencer uses them, the more I like them. "Well, as long as we stick together. I mean, you're nothing without me. No way would you be able to end world hunger on your own."_

"_Hey!" I fake a pout, knowing it's a joke. But, really, it's true. I am nothing without Spencer Carlin. She's a part of me. As much a part of me as my right arm. And if I lost my right arm, I could get a prosthetic in its place, but it would never be the same as the real thing. I wouldn't be the same._

"_I'm kidding. You know I'm kidding." Her eyes and smile softens. A seriousness takes over her features. "You can do anything, Ash. You're amazing." Shyly, she averts her gaze. The word "perfect" floats quietly from her lips. I catch it. Barely._

_I feel my heart pounding. And I want to say so much. Tell her that she's amazing. She's the perfect one. But I can't. I never can. Fear gets in the way, tells me that it's not a good idea. That she'll see through my words. See that I don't mean them in the friendly way she means them._

_She'll see the truth. And I can't let her see. Because I don't want to lose my right arm. I wouldn't be the same without it._

_Without her._

--

Gym. I hate gym. And Mondays. And Sara. Okay, no, I don't hate Sara. But I really want to after this morning.

I definitely hate my literature partner.

Why Spencer? Thirty-two students are in my first period class. Thirty-two! Why, or how, is it that I'm paired with the one person out of that thirty-two that I want nothing to do with? Why? How?

It's so fucked up.

And what's even more fucked up is that I can't stop thinking about it. Three classes have gone by, and I'm still dwelling on first period.

Feeling frustrated and sticky (from gym), I weave around swarms of people in the halls and slip into a bathroom. I check the stalls. Empty. Just the way I want it. I toss my bag on the counter and tightly clutch the edge of the sink. Shoulders bunched up, head forward, I stare blankly at myself in the mirror, trying to clear my thoughts of... everything. Then, my eyes focus. I look. Really look. And I see my sloppy appearance. Frizzy, matted hair. Pink cheeks. Ew. An hour of running track – why is that a requirement?

First, I concentrate on taming my hair, putting it into a quick and easy ponytail. Then, I go to my face. I open my bag, riffle through its contents, dig out my makeup kit. Facet on, water flows out in a rush. I adjust the temperature. My fingers touch the stream, checking its warmth. Before I bend forward to wash my face, I hear the door open. Footsteps. I pause, straighten my back and look into the mirror. Blue eyes lock on my brown.

Out of all the bathrooms in this school! What the hell is going on? For two years, I've managed to avoid running into her, but today, I can't escape her.

"Sorry, I didn't know you were in here." Spencer drops her head, steps backward. I hate it when she puts on the shy girl act. It used to be adorable, but now it bothers me, gets under my skin. "I'll go."

I take a breath and force myself to calm down. "It's a public bathroom," I quip, stopping her retreat. I lower my head and slowly cup my hands under the running water. "I asked Mrs. Pierce for a different partner." My eyes wander back to the reflection of Spencer and start searching. Searching for a hint of a smile, something that shows she is happy or relieved by my statement. But I don't find what I want, what I think should be her reaction. All I find is my ex-best friend standing with a bowed head and fidgeting hands, looking like she's the loneliest, saddest girl. My gaze falls to the sink, where my cupped hands are overflowing with water. "Unfortunately, she turned me down."

"I'm sorry you have to be stuck with me."

"So am I," I say, frostily. The frown on her face tells me that my words stung.

Spencer shakes her head. "I don't understand–" Two girls enter the bathroom, interrupting her. She moves out of their way, settling against the sink next to me. The girls disappear into stalls. She leans into me. "We can get through anything – together. Remember that?"

I can't be here. Not in this small space with Spencer. So close. Whispering. Filling my head with the past. A past that, before today, I had managed to forget. Two emotions are battling inside me. Anger and, something I wasn't prepared for, sadness. My eyes are stinging with tears. And I don't want her to see that I'm still weak around her, that she can still get to me, so I quickly shut off the water and shove my makeup kit into my bag. "That was a different time. A time I _don't_ want to remember," I say in a rush, throwing my bag over my shoulder and turning toward her. "A time I wish _never_ happened." And that's it. I walk past her and out of the bathroom.

I clench my jaw, blink away those unwelcome tears.

Where's Paige? I need a cigarette.

--


End file.
